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THE   HUDSON 


BY 

WALLACE   BRUCE 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  ALFRED  FREDERICKS 


SECOND   EDITION. 


BOSTON 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 

C&e  Hibcrmfce  Press,  Cambritiffe 


Copyright,  1881, 
By  WALLACE  BRUCE. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge  : 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H    O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


TO 

THE    MEMORY   OF 

WASHINGTON   IRVING 

Cftis  poem 

IS 
LOVINGLY   DEDICATED 


M204200 


THE    HUDSON. 


Morning. 

I.  The  Catskills. 
II.  The  Adirondacks. 

III.  The  Highlands. 

IV.  Tappan  Zee. 

Evening. 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 


The  illustrations  are  all  from  original  pen-and-ink  sketches  by  Alfred  Fredericks. 

Page 
Sunnyside Frontispiece. 

I.  Morning  View.     Storm  King  near  Cornwall-on-the-Hudson     .     1 1 

II.  "  Pierce  the  dark  shield  of  fleeing  Night" 13 

III.  Near  Poughkeepsie,  looking  South 14 

"  A  down  the  river  sloops  and  ships 
Float  slowly  with  the  lazy  tide.'''' 

IV.  Hentdrick  Hudson's  "Half  Moon"  off  Blue  Point    .    .     15 
V.  The  "Man  in  the  Mountain" 17 

"  Where  Ontiora  lies  enchained 
With  face  uplifted  to  the  sky.''' 

VI.  Rip  Van  Winkle.     "  The  sign  of  another  '  George  '"  ....     18 


Page 

VII.  Hendrick   Hudson   and   his   Crew   of    the   Half    Moon 

AMONG   THE    CATSKILLS 21 

VIII.  Wall  Face  Mountain,  Indian  Pass,  the  Source  of  the 

Hudson 23 

IX.  Camp  in  the  Adirondack^ 24 

"  And  Rosalind  with  Annie's  name 
Interpreted  the  dreams  to  me." 

X.  Break    Neck    Mountain    opposite   Old    Cro'-Nest    and 

Storm  King 27 

XI.  From  West   Point   looking   North  —  Kosciusko's   Gar- 
den Vignette 28 

"  On  either  side  these  mountain  glens 
Lie  ope)i  like  a  massive  book.'''' 

XII.  The  Old  Dutch  Church,  Sleepy  Hollow,  Tarrvtowx   .    31 

XIII.  Oloffe  Van  Kortlandt's  Dream 35 

XIV.  The  Palisades  —  Evening 37 


THE   HUDSON. 


MORNING. 


Gray  streaks  of  dawn  are  faintly  seen  ; 

The  stars  of  half  their  light  are  shorn  ; 
The  Hudson,  with  its  banks  of  green, 

Lies  tranquil  in  the  early  morn. 


The  earth  and  sky  breathe  sacred  rest, 
A  holy  peace  too  sweet  to  break, 

A  spell  like  that  divine  behest 
Which  stilled  the  Galilean  lake. 


The  circling  hills,  with  foreheads  fair, 
Await  with  joy  the  crowning  rays  ; 

All  nature  bows  in  grateful  prayer, 

The  templed  groves  respond  with  praise. 

Ye  trembling  shafts  of  glorious  light, 
Dart  from  the  east  with  arrowy  gleam  ; 

Cleave  the  dark  shield  of  fleeing  Night, 
And  slay  her  with  your  golden  beam. 


13 


Cities  and  hamlets,  up  and  down 
This  level  highway  to  the  sea, 

Along  the  banks  sit  gray  and  brown, 
Dim  shadows  musing  dreamily. 

Adown  the  river  sloops  and  ships 
Float  slowly  with  the  lazy  tide  ; 

And  round  the  bluff  a  paddle  dips, 

Where  once  the  storm-ship  used  to  ride. 


The  vision  widens  as  the  morn 

Sweeps  through  the  portals  of  the  day ; 
Purple  and  rosy  mists  adorn 

Mountain   and  hill-top  far  away. 
15 


I.  The  Catskills. 


The  Catskills  to  the  northward  rise, 

With  massive  swell  and  towering  crest,  — ■ 

The  old-time  "  mountains  of  the  skies," 
The  threshold  of  eternal  rest  : 
17 


Where  Manitou  once  lived  and  reigned, 
Great  Spirit  of  a  race  gone  by  ; 

And  Ontiora  lies  enchained, 
With  face  uplifted  to  the  sky. 

The  dream-land,  too,  of  later  days, 

Where  Rip  Van  Winkle  slept  in  peace, 

Wrapped  up  in  deep  poetic  haze, 
A  twenty  years  of  sweet  release. 

Ay,  burning  years  !  a  nation's  forge  ! 

To  wake  to  freedom  grown  to  more  ; 
To  find  another  painted  "  George  " 

Above  the  old  familiar  door. 

Through  summer  heat  and  winter  snow, 
Beside  that  rushing  mountain  stream, 

Just  how  he  slept  we  cannot  know ; 
Perhaps  't  was  all  a  pleasant  dream. 

Mayhap  in  many  a  wintry  squall, 

Or  howling  blast,   or  blinding  storm, 

He  thought  he  heard  Dame  Gretchen's  call, 
And  that  sufficed  to  keep  him  warm  ; 
19 


Or  else  that  flagon's  wondrous  draught, 
Distilled  in  some  weird  elfin-land, 

Drawn  from  the  keg  old   Hendrick  quaffed, 
And  shared  by  all  his  silent  band. 

O  legends  full  of  life  and  health, 
That  live  when  records  fail  and  die, 

Ye  are  the  Hudson's  richest  wealth, 
The  frondage  of  her  history  ! 


21 


II.  The  Adirondacks. 


And  musing  here  this  quiet  morn, 
I  call  up  pictures,  far  away, 

Of  fountains  where  thy  wave  is  born, 
Of  rills  that  in  deep  shadows  play ; 
23 


Of  forest,  trail,  and  lake,  and  stream, 
Rich  poems  bound  in  green  and  gold, 

Whose  leaves  reflect  the  autumn  gleam, 
Ere  summer  months  are  growing  old  ; 

Of  camp-fires  bright  with  dancing  flame, 
Where  dreams  and  visions  floated  free, 

And  Rosalind  with   Annie's  name 
Interpreted  the  dreams  to  me. 

Lake  Avalanche,  with  rocky  wall, 

And  Henderson's  dark-wooded  shore, 

Your  echoes  linger  still,  and  call 
Unto  my  soul  for  evermore ! 

Tahawas,  rising  stern  and  grand, 

"  Cloud-Sunderer,"  lift  thy  forehead  high, 
Guard  well  thy  sun-kissed  mountain  land, 
Whose  lakes  seem  borrowed  from  the  sky. 

O  Hudson,  mountain-born  and  free, 
Thy  youth  a  deep  impression  takes, 

For,  mountain-guarded  to  the  sea, 
Thy  course  is  but  a  chain  of  lakes. 


III.  The  Highlands. 

And  not  alone  thy  features  fair, 

And  legend  lore  and  matchless  grace, 

But  noble  deeds  of  courage  rare 
Illume,  as  with  a  soul,  thy  face. 


The  Highlands  and  the  Palisades 
Mirror  their  beauty  in  the  tide, 

The  history  of  whose  forest  shades 
A  nation  reads  with  conscious  pride. 
27 


On  either  side  these  mountain  glens 

Lie  open  like  a  massive  book, 
Whose  words  were  graved  with  iron  pens, 

And  lead  into  the  eternal  rock  : 

Which  evermore  shall  here  retain 

The  annals  time  cannot  erase, 
And  while  these  granite  leaves  remain 

This  crystal  ribbon  marks  the  place. 

The  spot  where  Kosciusko  dreamed, 
Fort  Putnam's  gray  and  ruined  wall, 

West  Point,  where  patriot  bayonets  gleamed, 
This  open  page  reveals  them  all. 

From  Stony  Point  to  Bemis   Height, 

From  Saratoga  to  the  sea, 
We  trace  the  lines,  now  dark,  now  bright, 

From  seventy-six  to  eighty-three. 

We  celebrate  our  hundredth  year 

With  thankful  hearts  and  words  of  praise, 

And  learn  a  lasting  lesson  here 

Of  trust  and  hope  for  coming  days. 
29 


IV.  Tappan  Zee. 

And  sweet  to  me  this  other  thought, 
And  more  than  fancy  to  my  mind,  — 

These  grand  divisions,  plainly  wrought, 
In  human  life  a  semblance  find  : 

The  Adirondacks,  childhood's  glee  ; 

The  Catskills,  youth  with  dreams  o'ercast ; 
The  Highlands,  manhood  bold  and  free  ; 

The  Tappan  Zee,  age  come  at  last. 
31 


O  Tappan  Zee,  with  peaceful  hills, 
And  slumbrous  sky,  and  drowsy  air, 

Thy  calm  and  restful  spirit  stills 

The  heart  weighed  down  with  weary  care ! 

Pocantico's  hushed  waters  glide 

Through  Sleepy  Hollow's  haunted  ground, 
And  whisper  to  the  listening  tide 

The  name  carved  o'er  one  lowly  mound. 

Fair  mansions  rise  on  every  hill, 

With  turrets  crowned  and  stately  towers, 

Which  men  can  buy  and  sell  at  will, 
But  old  Van  Tassel's  home  is  ours  : 

A  quiet,  cozy  little  nest, 

Enshrined  and  loved  for  evermore ; 
Where  Geoffrey  Crayon  came  to  rest, 

When  all  his  wanderings  were  o'er. 

Thrice  blest  and  happy  Tappan  Zee, 
Whose  banks  along  thy  glistening  tide 

Have  legend,  truth,  and  poetry 
Sweetly  expressed  in  Sunnyside  ! 
.  33 


EVENING. 

The  twilight  falls,  the  picture  fades  ; 

My  soul  has  drifted  down  the  stream  ; 
And  now  beneath  the  Palisades 

I  wonder,  "  Is  it  all  a  dream  ? " 


Below  the  cliffs  Manhattan's  spires 
Glint  back  the  sunset's  latest  beam  ; 

The  bay  is  flecked  with  twinkling  fires, 
Or  is  it  but  "  Van  Kortlandt's  dream  "  ? 
35 


Hark  !  Freedom's  arms  ring  far  and  wide  ; 

Again  these  forts  with  beacons  gleam  ; 
Loud  cannon  roar  on  every  side,  — 

I  start,  I  wake,  I  did  but  dream. 

Deep  silence  'mid  these  glorious  hills  ; 

Dark  shadows  on  the  silver  stream  ; 
My  very  soul  with  rapture  thrills, 

"  Is  't  heaven  or  earth,  or  but  a  dream  ? " 


Nay  !  true  as  life,  and  deep  as  love, 
And  real  amidst  the  things  that  seem ; 

For  earth  below  and  Heaven  above 

Proclaim  "truth  stranger  than  a  dream.' 


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